Of Mere Mortal Will
by The Guardsman
Summary: When all hope is lost, trust in the Emperor. Let His light guide you to where you are needed. For a small group of Imperial Guardsmen, these words are their fate. Mysteriously transported to an unfamiliar world they do not understand, they have only their Lasguns, their equipment, and their faith in the Emperor to fight against the gathering darkness. Or will they find new allies?
1. Chapter 1

**All right! First fanfic! Please offer any suggestions you have, like, and comment!**

 **So this is a crossover between WARHAMMER 40K and RWBY. Why, you ask?**

 **The Guard shooting the crap out of everything that moves, that's why!**

* * *

 _Of Mere Mortal Will._

Prologue

Sgt. Jaeger ducked as a krak grenade detonated in front of the trench he was currently inhabiting, the explosion sending dirt flying everywhere. The Mordian muttered in annoyance as he brushed some of it off of his pristine uniform. This was what he hated about trench warfare, how dirty it was. He understood the necessity of it, but as a Mordian he could not stand his uniform to be sullied.

"Oi! Cheer up, old chap! It didn't land in the trench!" Came the voice of a Praetorian Guardsman boiling water in a nearby dugout. "Besides, a little dirt never hurt anyone."

"Would you say the same if it landed in your tea, Smith?" inquired the sergeant.

"By Jove! If that were to happen, Emperor forbid, I would have to give those blokes a right proper lesson in etiquette with my bayonet, yeeesssss. Speaking of which, tea's done!".

Explosions continued to blossom in No Man's Land as the two soldiers settled down to enjoy this fleeting moment of relative calm along the front. If one were to look over the dugout these men had been living in for the past week, one would find nothing but a blasted and withered hellscape, illuminated by the constant streams of tracer rounds flashing back and forth. The battle had been raging for over a month now, the Guard slowly pushing forward, mile by bloody mile. The Heretics stubbornly stood their ground, even as thousand upon thousands of their ilk were crushed beneath Earthshaker barrages and infantry…

"TO ARMS! TO ARMS!"

Both men were on their feet in an instant, training taking over from reminiscing minds. They placed their lasguns atop the parapet, supported on either side by men of both regiments. In the distance figures could be seen, moving towards the Imperial lines in a vast and gruesome host. The Guardsmen steeled their resolve, knowing that a pitched battle was ahead.

"Gott-Kaiser in Himmel"... whispered Sgt. Jaeger at first sight. How many men did the wretched foe possess? He was stirred out of his moment of awe by the actions of a nearby Praetorian gun crew.

"Yeeessss, Gunner? If you could please target that bloody big lad there, the one with all the armour? It would be most appreciated."

"Certainly, Sir."

The lascannons beam melted through the heretic ranks, killing a rather large mutant upon its end. This was soon followed by an anticipated command from a Mordian lieutenant:

"FEUER FREI!"

The trench line gave way to a brilliant display of lasgun fire, scything down heretics by the hundreds. Again and again men fired, never wavering in their dedication to duty and Emperor. By the time they advanced twelve meters, the heretics must have lost several thousand men. Yet still they kept coming. Eventually they were able to close the distance, and a desperate melee broke out. Jaeger and Smith fought back to back, stabbing out with their bayonets whenever they could, being rewarded by the squelch of strait silver piercing tainted flesh. All around them, Guardsmen fought and bled to hold this line, litanies of faith and fury upon their lips. The flashes of lasgun fire, the dreadful whir of the lieutenants chainsword, the screams of men dying and killing, the maddening wails of the foul heretical hordes, surrounding them to form a symphony of war. But in the end, the Guard numbered just too few against too many. What little men were left soon perished as a sight Jaeger hoped never to see strode onto the field. Dark clouds of unnatural hue swirled about the figures head, wreathed in unholy relics and tomes. The beings voice, impossibly loud as it recited a foul tongue that pained all to hear. A being completely given over to the Dark Gods.

A Chaos Sorcerer.

Halting near the little dugout, yet taking no notice of the last few struggling Guardsmen within it, It began to chant more slavishly than before, the Chaos attack gaining momentum with it. Guard lines began to falter and wilt under the vile onslaught of madness, its power multiplied through acolytes of the sorcerer positioned all along the lines. The Sorcerer tasted an emotion he loved so much, that he halted his chanting for a moment to savor it. The emotion? It was fear.

Unbeknownst to the sorcerer, this was to be his undoing. For his momentary halt had allowed the guardsmen he had so carelessly ignored to retrieve their wits, to identify this new threat. They knew they would not survive this battle. They knew their duty. Thus, they did the only sensible thing for a Guardsman in their position to do.

They charged.

Their charge was hardly worth note, a mere four soldiers against a sorcerer. One was dragged down by the hordes of Chaos after barley a few meters, managing to arm her grenades before her death. The next was shot several times, and was dead before he dropped his lasgun. The last two continued on, bashing heretics out of the way with their rifles, running at full tilt. The sorcerer took no notice of this, concentrated as he was upon a terrifying new spell, one that would finally crush these dogs of the Corpse-God. Took no notice of the determination within the eyes of these remaining men. However, he took note of the two bayonets when they ruptured his side. He took note of their eyes. Finally, he took note of the live grenades strapped to their belts. The charges detonated right before the apex of his spell, changing one little word, the aftermath zipping through his acolytes like fire.

It may seem insignificant, but then again, you and I both know the fickle nature of the Warp.

One word can change quite a lot…

* * *

 **So, we have seen two of the Imperium's best: the space Prussians, because + 9,001 to discipline, and the space Brits… yeeeessss.**

 **Also, If you know anymore good old fashioned british banter for me to incorporate, feel free to comment!**

 **The Imperials will be on Remnant next chapter. Also, two new regiments, and maybe a surprise guest...**

 **Auf Wiedersehen!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello, boys! I'M BAAAAAACK!**

 **First off, I would like to thank those of you who left a review. Please, continue to do so. I am always looking for ways to improve this story. Second, let us all petition GW to add a Winter War era Finnish Guard regiment, so that the tyranids (or space commies) may learn to fear the power of PERKELE!**

 **Now onto the main event! My dear readers, I present to you… CHAPTER ONE!**

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

The soldier opened his eyes as he slowly regained consciousness. His hand moved, felt something he had never thought he would encounter in his life. Grass. Honest-to-Emperor grass. He pushed himself off the ground, looked in slight wonder at his surroundings. This wasn't the muddy and barren battlefield he had just been on, nor was it a towering hive city. This was not the trench he had strangled an acolyte of the sorcerer in. He stood in the middle of a lush, green forest, untouched by war. He whispered a small prayer to the Emperor for letting him see this. Had he done his duty? Was this his reward?

He heard a weak groan and a cackling laugh behind him. Nay, this was not his seat beside the Emperor. He turned to face the rousing cultists, taking stock of his weapons. His lasgun was several meters away, bayonet still attached. Too far. He reached for an object holstered on his belt. It would suffice.

Before the first cultist could even get off the ground, his head was split in two by a viscous strike from the Feldspaten. The soldier yanked it out, sent it into the chest of another cultist. He turned, knocked over a third, and crushed his windpipe beneath his boot. Retrieving his spade he severed what was once an arm from its owner. The mutant's wails were silenced by a finishing blow to the neck. The body stumbled around for a few seconds, the head barely attached, before it collapsed.

The soldier took no notice of this. His fighting was cold, calculated, and brutally efficient. He yanked one cultist into the way of her comrade's sword, leaving her to drown in her own blood as he slew her companion. He punched a cultist in the throat, cleaved through the spine of another with his spade. A boot lashed out, a knee bent the wrong way, and a head went flying. A las shot bounced off of his shoulder armor, another off his helm. He rolled away from this new threat, took cover behind one of those beautiful trees he had seen. The bark burned as the lasgun blew chunks out of it. The soldier stood up, aimed, and threw the Feldspaten with all his might. The lasgun fell silent.

He now lacked a weapon. However, he had steadily fought his way over to where his rifle lay. He made a dash for it. A large cultest tried to intercept him. The soldier simply grabbed his arm, threw him over his shoulder, and rolled for his weapon. He came up, rifle raised to meet the remaining cultist. He calmly fired into their ranks. A head disappeared, an arm was blown off, a hole was formed on a torso. The few heretics left crumpled, screamed, and died beneath the onslaught. Some pleaded for mercy, their sobs making their fear evident.

The soldier did not care. There would be no mercy. Soon the cultist fell silent. The soldier strode forth to retrieve his Feldspaten. He sheathed the weapon on his belt. Then he heard it. Movement, behind him. He waited till the last possible moment before he turned an rammed his bayonet into the throat of the last cultist, the largest man he had ever seen. The man started to choke on blood, his eyes pleading with the soldier who had impaled him. Looking into eyes that held no pity, no remorse, no emotion.

The eyes of the Death Korps of Krieg.

* * *

Sgt. Jaeger looked around himself in utter amazement along with Pvt. Smith. They couldn't be standing here, they had blown themselves up! And yet here they stood, fully intact, in the middle of a realm so peaceful and calm that it had to be a dream. They looked at each other, silently asking if the other understood what was going on. Neither received an answer. Finally Smith spoke up.

"It appears that the Emperor has plans for us, my dear comrade."

"Indeed it does."

The sergeant suddenly rotated his head, hearing a sound he knew all too well.

"Hear that?"

Smith nodded.

"Lasfire."

The two inserted fresh power packs into their weapons and made hast towards the sounds of battle.

They eventually arrived at the scene and saw something they would never forget: At least thirty cultists, brutally massacred. And in the middle of it all a lone soldier, clad in greatcoat, stahlhelm, and gasmask, silently digging a trench.

"By the Throne… I heard the Krieg were a batch of right hard buggers, but this… is quite impressive." remarked Smith.

The Krieger noticed the two approaching and straitened to attention upon seeing Jaeger's rank.

"Mein Herr. Fläche frei."

"Gut gemächt, Soldat. At ease."

The Krieger immediately returned to digging his trench. The two guardsmen looked about.

"Weiss Sie wo wir sind?" inquired Jaeger.

"Nein, mein Herr."

"Ach… " Jaeger mulled over that information before coming to a conclusion. "Soldat! Kommen Sie mit. Wir müssen Leute finden und fragen, wo wir sind." the Krieger stopped and climbed out of his trench, grabbing his rifle.

"Jawohl mein Herr!"

The three guardsmen set off towards the north. They hadn't gone far when they encountered a surprise. Two more guardsmen, coming there way. Soon they were close enough to identify: a Cadian and a-

"Filthy scum." Jaeger growled out, his distaste of the Savlar Chem Dogs evident.

The new guardsmen stopped in front of the trio, the Cadian snapping off a smart salute.

"Sergeant! Privates Alexandrov and Schmuck, reporting! Hans 11501, nice to see you again." The Krieger offered a slight nod in greeting.

"Where's the rest of your platoon?" asked Jaeger.

"Wasted, Sarge. Bought it back in the trenches." replied Alexandrov

"And we will to, if we don't get the frak outta here." stated the Chemdog, who then started moving down the path at a quick pace.

"HALT! A true Guardsman does not run from his foe in terror. What has you so cowed?"

"Oh, the guy's a coward." stated Alexandrov. "We encountered a few black wolf like things- they actually were kind of spooky- and he climbed up a tree."

"They were gonna eat me! They're some kind of daemon!"

"Really?" remarked the Mordian in a very sarcastic tone.

"Yeah, nothing but the truth in my words. They had beady red eyes! Red eyes ain't natural, man! And unnatural eyes mean daemons!"

"And yet you stand next to a Cadian." snarked Smith. The Chemdog shut up.

They soon continued on their way, with Schmuck shooting angry glances at the Victorian duo. They soon came upon another surprise, this time not of the happy variety. A Commissar lie dead against a tree. Around him lay piles of black ash. Across his chest were deep slashing wounds- the fatal blow. On his hand was a ring. On his lap lay a near-empty pistol. On the ground next to him was a picture of a woman and a little girl. On his face was the look of a man who had realised he would never see his family again. Smith took off his pith helmet, placed it over his heart in respect for the man. Jaeger did the same, and Alexandrov murmured a prayer to the Emperor. Their moment of honoring a fallen comrade was broken by Schmuck.

"Hehey! One of those frakkers bought it! Frakking Commi-"

The resounding thwack of a rifle stock connecting with a head silenced him. Jaeger grabbed a fistful of his jacket and hauled him up, anger coloring the sergeant red.

"Listen, you Schweinhund! I know your nothing but a filthy criminal. I know you have no morals. I know you did not join the Guard to fight for the Emperor or humanity. But by the Emperor, YOU WILL RESPECT THE MEN AND WOMEN WHO DIED FOR THEM!" With that he dropped Schmuck and delivered a resounding kick to the stomach. "Now shut up and do your job, or i'll shoot you myself." He motioned to Hans and the two began to dig a grave for their dead comrade.

After a small memorial service, the troops pressed on in their search. That is, until they ran afoul of a pack of wolf like creatures. They were pure black, and had what looked like bone plating over them.

"These are the things we encountered before, Sarge." whispered Alexandrov. Jaeger nodded ad studied the creatures. One of the creatures sniffed the air, growled, and turned in their direction. The pack followed its lead

"Oh dear, It appears they've spotted us… yeeessss." Smith turned to the sergeant. "Your orders, Sir?

"FIX BAYONETS!" Jaeger bellowed.

Five blades unsheathed as one and flew to the rifles

"FORM RANKS!"

The men lined up. The creatures began to growl at them.

"PRESENT ARMS!"

Five rifles were aimed at the creatures. The lead creature howled, and the pack charged.

"FEUER!

Five rifles flashed. Five beasts fell.

"FEUER!"

Again.

"FEUER!"

And again.

"FEUER!"

And again. Yet still the beasts came, mouths frothing, snarling, hate in their eyes.

"FEUER FREI!"

A rapid staccato of lasers flashed out as the men started firing faster. Still, on came the beasts.

"Oh frak this! I'm outta here!" Cried Schmuck as he broke ranks and fled the battle.

"COWARD!" screamed Jaeger, rage visible on his face. He was not permitted to do any more as the beasts then closed to melee range. Bayonets flashed as they stabbed into the pack over and over. Beasts of darkness howled as the were pierced by the Emperor's blessed strait silver. Smith snarled as he slammed the butt of his rifle into one of the things nose. Alexandrov shouted litanies of faith as he alternated between shooting and stabbing. Hans had been separated from the group, and was using his bayonet and Feldspaten to carve a bloody path back to them. Eventually the men formed a square, stabbing, shouting, and shooting their way through the horde.

"Hold fast, men! FOR THE EMPRAH!" Called the Mordian

"FOR THE EMPRAH!" came the reply.

A clawed paw came down to strike from above. Jaeger blocked it with his rifle, and Hans severed it with his spade. By now all of them were wounded and bleeding from multiple lacerations. It appeared as if the end had come. Yet it did not. The pack just seemed to suddenly melt away, it's numbers heavily depleted. The men kept shooting those that they could see. The Guardsmen just stood there for a while, out of breath and overwhelmed. Then Alexandrov lifted his rifle to the heavens, and a cry of victory burst forth from his lips:

"UUUURRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

The rest of the tired and weary squad also took up the cry as they hefted their rifles to the sky.

"UUUURRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAA!" they shouted, waving about their weapons. Even the Krieger did a small nod of approval, even if he was a bit depressed that he didn't die for the Emperor.

They spent another hour there, dressing their wounds to the best of their abilities. Those that had them took the time to eat their rations. When the hour ended, Sgt. Jaeger rallied his small squad, and they continued on their way. After about three miles, they heard rustling in the bushes. They immediately fanned out, preparing themselves for anything. It was much to their surprise when out of the bushes stumbled Schmuck, now missing an arm and obviously high from whatever he put in his rebreather.

"He-ey guuyys, you gotta heeeelp meeee." he flailed his bleeding stump at them. Sgt. Jaeger walked up to him, a look of utter contempt and disgust upon his face. He then spoke to Schmuck the words that would seal his fate.

"A true Guardsman Does. Not. Run." With that, Jaeger pulled out the dead Commissar's laspistol and shot him in the head.

Unbeknownst to the Guardsmen, they were being watched.

* * *

 **DUN DUN DUUUUUUUN!**

 **We got to see the Mordians favorite tactic: Continental style warfare!**

 **This chapter has some major dialogue, raises many questions, adds Depressed space Germans, And features the guard doing what it does best!**

" **DYING."**

 **Ha ha no. Ignore the Commissar.**

" **Do not ignore the Commissar. Ignoring the Commissar is Heresy. Heresy is cause for BLAMING."**

… **Well I think we should ask some questions:**

 **Why does Sgt. Jaeger hate the Chem Dogs so much? Why did he kill Schmuck?**

" **He executed a traitor? Give that man a bolt pistol!"**

 **Please like, comment, and enjoy! Ask questions! They shall be explained in later chapters. I shall try to make a chapter every weekend! Remember to send in Victorian era British banter please!**

 **Ave Imperator,**

 **The Guardsman**


	3. Chapter 3

Guten Tag leute. Welcome back to the story.

I would like to sincerely apologize for my absence from the story. I was absolutely swamped by life these last few months, and therefore rendered unable to carry through with my promise.

To those of you who left Reviews, I thank you all. Please continue to due so. I would like to hear your thoughts and ideas.

Now, we stand upon the precipice of something… glorious.

Lords and Ladies, I give you: Chapter 2!

* * *

Ozpin sipped his coffee as he gazed out into the Emerald Forest. Something most… unusual was happening there. It had begun with a lightning storm. Not just any lightning storm, this one was taking place inside the forest, not above it. It was also comprised of purple lightning. Several of the students had taken videos of the phenomenon on their scrolls before he ordered them inside.

He turned back towards the screen, a look of deep thought etched onto his features. He continued to view footage shot by the cameras in the forest. It seemed that during the storm, several men had been transported into the forest somehow. The headmaster had assumed they were all together, until the grey one had begun to viciously slaughter the others. That had been quite the surprise. It had also heightened his interest in them. After seeing two others meet the grey one, apparently as allies, Ozpin made his decision. He reached for his scroll.

"Glynda, could you and Port head out to the Emerald forest? There is a group of men that I believe we must bring here."

Wind whistled past the Bullhead as it sped along over the forest canopy. Glynda listened to it for a short minute before turning back to her scroll. Ozpin had sent her a picture of the men in the forest, but it was very hazy, making it hard to pick out any details. Her concentration was broken when the pilot spoke up.

"Ma'am? I'm seeing a lot of Grimm smoke from a clearing up ahead. You think that's our LZ?" Glynda went to look over the pilot's shoulder. It was an unusual amount. Very much worth investigating. She ordered the pilot to circle the field then land. During the circle, her vision was almost obscured by the smoke. Upon landing, she and Port exited to survey the surrounding area.

"Ah-ha! It seems a mighty battle was fought here!" exclaimed Port, pointing to the torn up ground and mass of prints. He bent down to have a closer look. "Hmmm… these boot prints were all made by hobnailed boots. You don't see many of those these days. They've been out of general use since The Great War. Well, except for mine, that is!"

"Where do they lead, Peter?"

"Oh, right. They head north, deeper into the woods. Follow me!" The duo set off on the trail of these mystery men. After a few miles, she began to examine the trail they were following. The prints seemed to be in a single file line, each one in the indent of another. How odd.

"Oh my."

She looked up to view what Port had seen, and was immediately distraught. There in front of her lay a corpse in a pool of blood. It was missing an arm, yet as they moved closer, it became apparent that this was not the cause of death. The top half of his head was missing, and the rest of it horribly burnt and maimed. "In all of my expeditions, I have never seen a Grimm that cauterizes the wounds it leaves." remarked Port.

"Agreed. This was no Grimm, and look: he lacks a weapon, yet carries the pouches for ammunition. We might be dealing with brigands."

"That could be. Look at the condition of his gear. Low quality, and ramshackle. His clothes are filthy and torn. He could have been part of a band, and betrayed them in some way. Whatever happened, it did not occurred long ago. The blood is still wet." With that, they resumed the hunt, now with more urgency. As they followed, Glynda realized that something did not add up.

"Peter, have you ever known brigands to stay in single file lockstep?" She inquired. Port looked down at the tracks, a bushy eyebrow raised.

"No, I have not. I've never even heard of disciplined brigands. And the prints raise another point. Thieves would not be wandering about in rare hobnailed boots. And just what kind of weapon deals out the damage we saw earlier? We may be in for a real fight. Then again, it could also be that our targets did not commit the execution. There was no sign of a struggle." They continued on till an obstacle was reached. "The tracks end here, at this river. I don't see them on the opposite side."

"Is there another way to find out which way they went?"

"There may be- hold on…"

"What?"

"Listen"

She did, and then she heard it. Drifting up from downriver, the sound of… singing? As the two Huntsmen chased it, the music grew in volume and power, and she began to make out was being sung:

"Lore, Lore, Lore, Lore,

Schön sind die Mädchen

Von siebzehn, achtzehn Jahr!

Lore, Lore, Lore, Lore,

Schöne Mädchen gibt es überall;

Und kommt der Frühling in das Tal,

Grüß mir die Lore noch einmal, ade, ade, ade!"

Glynda had absolutely no clue as to what the song was, or even what language it was in. Definitely one not heard in any major population centers. She did, however, recognize the beat, and the frivolous air the song had.

"Well, that explains the prints." she remarked. Port looked at her with a questioning eyebrow. "It's a cadence song; they're marching." A few minutes later they came upon a clearing, across which marched four oddly dressed men. The huntress weighed her options. "Port, do you still have tranquilizer darts?"

"Of course! I can only capture so many Grimm with my bare hands, haha! But why would we need… oh. I see. You want me to tranquilize them?" Glynda nodded an affirmative. A bit excessive, though I see why. I mean, after all, they are unknowns and could prove hosti-"

"Port, the tranquilizers?" she interrupted.

"Oh, right."

* * *

Pvt. Smith was singing a jaunty tune with the lads when he felt something stab into the back of his neck. Reaching behind himself, he pulled out a dart, much to his surprise. His head started to swim "Dear Sargeant, I… I do not feel well... " The rest of the Guardsmen whirled around in time to see him drop.

"AMBUSH!"

"Search by fire!" Sgt. Jaeger bellowed. Lasbolts began to flash out as the Guardsmen began to fire randomly into the woods around them. Another dart whistled out, dropping Alexandrov like a rock. Yet another one buried itself in Hans' greatcoat, failing to pierce the armor underneath. The Sergeant soon fell , two darts embedded in his thigh. Hans spotted a flash of red in the forest, and proceeded to empty his lasgun on that position. The Kreiger then followed up with the only logical option for a Korpsman under ambush: He charged the foe, bayonet at the ready. He endured a fusillade of tranquilizer darts, until one finally penetrated the sleeve of his heavy greatcoat. The krieger managed a few more steps before he too fell.

Soon two figures could be seen emerging from the woods, gathering the unconscious soldiers. A Bullhead descended into the clearing, and the men loaded aboard. And once more, the forest lay still.

* * *

FIRST CONTACT.

Sorry that I have taken so long on the story. Please enjoy and review.

A thank you to everyone who has stayed with this story. I know that the last chapter went too fast, and that it took so long to write this one. I shall attempt to rectify that in the future.

Have a good day,

\- The Guardsman


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